My Path to Magic 2: A Combat Alchemist Read Online Free Page A

right?).  The dark mages don't have friends, only acquaintances, but Ron and I knew each other for a long time - since our first day at the university. We got used to each other and were able to forgive one another's lesser sins.  Then suddenly Shorty Sam appeared, and Ron became a close friend of his. If this dwarf had been worth something, it would not have been so hurtful…Why did Ron decide to spy on me and then lurk?  He was lurking for me, wasn't he? Perhaps he had a reason for his strange behavior, but I wasn't able to guess it. I ought to talk seriously with Quarters, and I intended to do it right away, regardless of his wish.
    T he image passed on by Rustle was quite different from what I saw with my own eyes; the monster "painted" things depending on the degree of his interest.  Buildings, for example, all looked almost the same to him, differing only by the character of their security magic; people he discerned by the extent of their magic abilities; he did not see their other traits.  To the images created by his own perception, the monster added pictures he borrowed from other people's brains. I recognized the needed warehouse by its security - a successful imitation of the warding perimeter, a sketch of which Rustle showed to me earlier. The imitation was indistinguishable from the real perimeter to a non-mage’s eye.
    The light was on in the porter's booth, but the guard himself was not present, to my luck.
    I looked at my pants, soiled with dung, and, seeing that Max was already waiting for me on the other side, dirty from ear to ear and happy, climbed over the gate.  (I would have to bathe my zombie-dog again. My landlady already looked at me askance - she didn't agree with having pets in her house.)  The main gate of the warehouse was locked with a large arch-lock, but the side door was ajar.  A trap or an oversight? In case of a trap, I would enter, say "Hi!", and get hit on the dome, hopefully not with a hammer.  I seriously pondered:  should I blow the "whistle" and bring the vaunted team of Captain Baer here? What if Quarters became friends with some company (unlikely, but not impossible), and they drank together? And the artisans existed only in my fevered imagination? I would look like an idiot! On the other hand, if my foreboding was correct and the artisans did exist…Cowardice is not typical for dark magicians, and even cautious ones are rare in people of my kin; but this time I felt my zombie-dog should go first.
    Max entered the building through a ventilation window under the roof - he just jumped through it into the room. A huge open space inside was cluttered with stacks of crates and barrels. It was dark, there were neither lights, nor candles, nor windows; even if there were, the sun was already below the roof, and the day was on the wane.  My dog, lurking in the twilight, smelled at least six people, nervously waiting for something, and one more body, obviously unhealthy, as the sour-tart odor of its injuries literally permeated the room.  Max could not identify the injured; my dog had not met Quarters before.
    These must have been Sam's friends, I thought, and they set an ambush for me.  What a sleazebag! I regretted that I did not beat him up in the storage room to instill some common sense.  Who could that injured person be? I did not care if it was a warehouse watchman, but what if Ron was the victim? Rustle wouldn't rustle in vain.
    Well, I was going to act unceremoniously, as always.
    I stepped in, tightly shut the door behind me, and moved to where Max spotted the ambush. As soon as I passed some invisible line, the lights came on. Three enemies were in front of me: one held a knife at Quarters' throat, another poked a crossbow in my direction, and the third was their boss. One more arbalester stood at the end of the passage on the right, and another one hid behind the boxes on the left - he probably thought I did not know about him. The last one who lit the light was